


Half-Past Eleven

by KiaSqueaks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barefoot Cas, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Panties, Spanking, Sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 04:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaSqueaks/pseuds/KiaSqueaks
Summary: Dean's been causing trouble, but isn't that the point? There are probably too many details, it's pre-PWP and it's for the sweetheart challenge.





	Half-Past Eleven

It was the quiet that always got to Dean the most. 

That silence that overwhelmed and rushed over him like a wave, somehow highlighting the hum of the air conditioning, the soft flutter of curtain that always seemed amplified and caused a light shiver to run down his back with his hyperfocus, the desperate desire of a man who needed to focus on anything but himself. 

There was another sound suddenly, the light rasp of a door swinging open across the grain of the carpet that chafed under Dean’s skin and a shiver of desire ran down Dean's freckled back while his pulse quickened. 

He knew who it was, the lightest scent of ozone and soap came in with the draft of air from the open door and it settled around Dean, easing his shoulders even as his pulse raced, and his heart leapt into his throat like a jackrabbit. He felt like he would simultaneously collapse from relief and cramp from sheer tension as he waited for Castiel to walk around him enough to be visible. His stomach clenched with a pulse of need that raced through him as the man walked up to Dean and then past him, trailing a cool hand over Dean’s bare shoulder as he deliberately walked towards the lone chair in the room, settling into it and regarding Dean with a cool and calculating expression. 

God, how could this man do nothing except stare at him from across the room and leave Dean in a panting, desperate mess? The older man sprawled his legs lightly as he settled, the tight jeans he wore seemed painted onto the older man's body and there were several long moments where Dean forgot to breathe as he knelt… waiting and watching the raven-haired dominant before swallowing as Castiel rose and stalked forward on bare feet. 

There were times, when Cas didn’t get a pop culture reference or seemed perplexed by a simple human reality when Dean could almost forget the man was a seasoned, lethal warrior. But in times like this, where the loping grace of Castiel’s walk read nothing but predatory and dangerous… well it wasn’t hard to remember exactly how powerful and deadly his angel was. 

"Hello Dean." the man said when close enough that Dean could hear him. His voice was deep, holding the tiniest bit of rasp, just enough to whisper of desire and interest, the familiar phrase enough to melt the tension at the base of Dean’s spine, causing him to sway forward with the desire to rest his forehead against Cas’ thigh.  
The man's eyes roamed down Dean's body as he took another deliberate step forward into Dean's personal space, as if reading the need for Dean to ground himself and green eyes fluttered shut as Dean gave in and rested his forehead against the soft denim and let loose a shuddering breath. 

The power and strength in the man’s body, the warm, spicy scent of ozone and fabric softener that Dean could only smell this close… it made him feel... safe. Safe in a way that he could barely remember feeling. The older man braced his stance so the sub could lean against him, a hand coming up to lightly rest against the back of Dean’s neck and slowly dragging it up through his hair to pet him. 

"You know…” Dean’s body tensed at the quiet words that seemed overly loud, every sensation in his body heightening in anticipation for the next words, the next action of the man. He hadn’t expected the hand that was gently petting him to suddenly fist his hair and drag his head backwards. It tore a desperate moan from his throat as his eyes widened and his breathing quickened into a pant. 

“It's not polite to start fights with the local law enforcement, Sweetheart... perhaps I should remind you of your manners…” 

Dean was suddenly airborne, lifted and sprawled across the bed, the edge of it digging into his stomach as his ass clenched in navy lace panties… the only thing he’d been allowed to wear while he waited. His hands scrambled, fighting the urge to flee or protest and they desperately raked against the bedspread until he could dig fingers into it and hold on tight as the first blow struck across his ass, a high wail leaving him even as his body went pliant under the strong hand holding him down. 

It took three strikes across lace-covered skin to coax more sounds from him, 6 to get a sniffle and 15 to have him outright sobbing. It was true that Dean had experienced much worse in his life as far as pain went. He had survived broken bones, concussions, being stabbed and shot, he had survived sigils being burned into his bones and the torture of Hell. He had survived the mental and emotional anguish of losing his mother, and to some extent his father as a child. He had survived the manipulations and the death and the evil of the world. 

But it wasn’t the pain that brought forth his tears, it was the joy of feeling alive… feeling loved and cherished enough to be corrected. It was the attention and the assaging of guilt that always hung over him. 

Guilt for dying, guilt for living, guilt for trying his best and having it still not be enough. 

But he didn’t have to feel guilty anymore, he didn’t have to avoid his reflection anymore. Because Cas had found him, seen him, and had found him worthy anyway. God help him but he had. And everytime Castiel reminded him of that worth… through love, the last slice of pizza, his protection and even the discipline… it eased another drop of guilt and washed it away, mending the holes in Dean one spanking and correction at a time. It wasn’t ever easy… but the absolution left Dean breathless and humbled, his body willing and eager to accept the reminder.

It would be a lesson Dean wouldn’t forget.


End file.
